find me, again. | russtappen

Max Verstappen has everything-money, confidence, and a trail of headlines that never seem to stop following him. Owner of V Square, adored and hated in equal measure, he lives loud. Too loud.

And then there's George Russell-calm, composed, a fashion designer whose brand Maison Joré defines quiet luxury. Where Max is chaos, George is order. Where Max flirts, George builds. And somehow, they collide in the middle of it all.

"Morning, darling." Max teases, leaning on George's desk.

"Don't call me that."

They don't make sense. They argue in showrooms and fall asleep on opposite sides of the couch, always meeting again somewhere in between. But when George finds out that Max's past isn't as buried as he thought, the chaos breaks loose.

"If you want me to trust you," George says, voice trembling, "then clean it up. All of it."

So Max does-chasing ghosts, making amends, trying to prove that change isn't just a word he throws around. Somewhere along the way, his laughter gets softer. His touch steadier. His eyes only on George.

When he returns, it isn't with grand gestures or expensive gifts-just quiet honesty.

"I'm not perfect," Max admits. "But I'm done running."

George exhales, half-smiling. "You're insane."

"And you love it."

sometimes, the heart doesn't untie. it learns to stay tangled.